


The Beginning of Sanctification

by sinuous_curve



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Enemas, Gen, Humiliation, Medical Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-22
Updated: 2011-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-23 22:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinuous_curve/pseuds/sinuous_curve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>As a medical man, Watson has always found much truth in the advice once given to him by a mentor, that a doctor who is unwell in body and mind can have little hope to offer reprieve to any patient. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beginning of Sanctification

**Author's Note:**

> Ubetaed. I feel this is sort of a blueballing fic, for which I apologize. Warning for internalized shame wrt to the kink.

As a medical man, Watson has always found much truth in the advice once given to him by a mentor, that a doctor who is unwell in body and mind can have little hope to offer reprieve to any patient.

He is well aware that he has not always taken the sage advice with as much enthusiasm as he ought. He believes there can be some leniency offered in his own case, for war is not a healthy state of affairs for any man and sometimes the best one might be able to hope for is survival. And survive he did.

Which is all the more reason to take more excellent care of himself. Watson has courted death, tasted it, and only just been drawn back from that oblivion. He is in no further hurry to seek his end, now that life has once more found flavor and appeal.

It is the excuse he uses.

Oh, he knows the literature. He knows the _proper_ applications for the treatment, and the many uses that it has. Clysters are a mainstay of medicine and, Watson supposes, for rather good reason. Its uses are many and varied; he has even heard that many midwives administer them to their patience just prior to giving birth to great effect.

Watson does not meant to _deny_ the beneficial aspects.

It is merely, if he is to be quite honest, that he rather find an aspect of... _pleasure_ in them.

He chooses a night when Holmes is least likely to knock unexpectedly on his door, having lately been preoccupied by a case to which Watson has not been privy. Truthfully, he does not entirely mind the thought of night which is unlikely to include running through many disreputable alleys and concluding in a tavern while Holmes reveals the drunken sailor in the corner is actually a baron who has been embezzling money from a fellow lord. Occasionally Watson feels like a small dog kept to follow along and listen to Holmes’ speeches.

Watson closes his door and locks it firmly. He ignores the increased rhythm of his heart ad the sweat that beads at his temples and beneath his arms. Arousal is not an uncommon phenomenon. He tells himself that it is nervousness at an invasive procedure, and the lie is quite comfortable.

He begins by removing the wooden case in which he keeps his clyster syringe from the cabinet and setting on his examination table. The box is quite plain, in order to avoid arousing the curiosity of the unwary and giving innocents a rather nasty shock. Watson’s is worn smooth from use and much handling; he undoes the catch with a flick of his thumb so familiar he could like do it blindfolded without fumbling.

The syringe is large and pleasantly weighty in his hands. The metal is smooth and cool, well and often polished to a mild silver glow. Watson draws his fingers down the length of it. It is a lesser lie, pretending he is merely seeking defects rather than drawing pleasure from the simple feel of it. A lie still, of course, but the least of the ones he tells.

From the basin he draws enough warm water the fill the syringe. It is significantly heavier full and primed for use and deep inside Watson’s stomach there is a noticeable tightening of muscles, echoed in a sudden dryness in his mouth. His hands don’t shake, precisely, so much as tremble lightly.

He returns to his table and places the syringe on it.

For a moment, Watson pauses with his hands placed flat on either side of the syringe. He notes his body’s reactions; his breath and heartbeat, the flush of heat on his skin, and the heavy, pulsing warmth low in his stomach. He licks his lips and swallows and thinks, as he always does, that a better man would return the syringe to its wooden box and proper place as a medical procedure.

But Watson has no illusions that he is a better man and begins to unbutton his shirt.


End file.
